


If I gave you every piece of me

by ViolettaValery



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: M/M, Multi, Remix, Reporter Alex Manes, Trust Issues, Unconventional courtship, Vigilante AU, Vigilante Michael Guerin, enemies to lovers (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:41:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22424251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolettaValery/pseuds/ViolettaValery
Summary: A remix of el-gilliath's Vigilante AU!Wherein Alex Manes is a reporter with trust issues, Michael Guerin is the vigilante smitten with him, and the courtship is unconventional.
Relationships: Max Evans/Liz Ortecho/Kyle Valenti, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 28
Kudos: 138
Collections: RNM Fanfic Remix 2020





	If I gave you every piece of me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [el_gilliath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/el_gilliath/gifts).
  * Inspired by [First Time Ever I Saw Your Face](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20758208) by [el_gilliath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/el_gilliath/pseuds/el_gilliath). 



> I've loved Tove's vigilante AU for a while now, so imagine how tickled I was when I got to remix it! Especially because I'd already had some ideas bouncing around in my head for a vigilante AU, so this was the perfect opportunity. 
> 
> In Tove's original, Alex is immediately pretty into Michael and sides with vigilantes, so my first idea was: what if I made them enemies and made this a straightforward enemies to lovers story? But as I wrote it, I realized that wouldn't work, partly because that would require Alex to agree with his father about vigilantes. Which is how it morphed into this version, where they're not really enemies but Alex is not a particularly big fan of vigilantes. 
> 
> The fic does require some familiarity with the original stories, and I skipped describing some of the action scenes because they're already pretty perfect in Tove's original. I also borrowed a couple lines from the original as a sort of homage. Thank you for letting me play around in your playground, and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thanks as always to @alaxanderlightweight for beta-ing, being a soundboard, and generally listening to me whine about plot dead-ends.

Alex hates him, because Cowboy did the worst thing he possibly could to Alex: he gave him hope.

In the bank, he’d looked down the barrel of that gun and made peace with his death and then Cowboy had shown up. Handsome as hell, confident as fuck, and infuriating as he’d single-handedly saved Alex’s life and caught the robbers, all without breaking a sweat or losing an ounce of his perfect composure.

And then he’d smiled at Alex like he cared. Like Alex’ life _mattered,_ and Alex hates him for it.

His father’s barbed words had only contributed to making an already bad day worse, and by the time he gets home, he’s in an absolutely foul mood, and the last person he wants to see is Cowboy.

Who is waiting for him in his kitchen, greeting him with a casual “Hey” like it’s perfectly normal for him to be there.

“Breaking and entering is a crime, you know,” Alex says. “Not that you’d care.”

Cowboy cocks his head, but doesn’t seem particularly offended by Alex’s words. 

“Just wanted to see if you were alright.”

_Damn him._

“I’m not a damsel in distress. I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Cowboy says, in a smooth, silky voice, unperturbed by Alex’s tone. “That was pretty badass, the way you looked death in the face. Literally.”

Alex obstinately ignores the small swelling feeling that the praise evokes in him.

“You can go now.”

Cowboy inclines his head. “I’ll see you, Alex,” he says, disappearing into the darkness. Leaving behind a slip of paper on his kitchen counter.

Alex pointedly doesn’t look at it, going instead to shower and fuming. 

Cowboy had no right – _no right_ – to look at Alex with those wide, concerned hazel eyes, Alex thinks as the hot water beats down on him. He had no right to ask in that soft, lilting voice whether Alex was alright, because that makes Alex want to trust him, and Alex knows how that always ends. 

It doesn’t matter that Cowboy had saved his life, or that he’d come to check on Alex after. All that did was make Alex want to trust him, to believe in him, which really was just another form of power he was giving an already overpowered vigilante.

And men with power always use it to hurt.

It’s true that no vigilante has thus far irrevocably taken the law into their own hands, but it was only a matter of time. Men with superhuman powers would grow drunk on those powers, and Cowboy would be no different. There would be casualties, and Alex hasn’t survived all that he’s survived only to let his heart be one of them.

No, better to end all this before it even got started, before the seedling of hope in his chest grew to full bloom.

Convinced of a course of action, Alex finally lets himself look at the slip of paper Cowboy left and finds a loopy _M_ scrawled on it.

….

The next day, when he arrives at work, there’s a thick envelope waiting for him, as well as an excited Arturo.

“You will have an article on the heist by the end of day, yes?” he asks.

Alex assures him that he will and reaches for the otherwise unmarked envelope.

Inside, he finds a goldmine. He’s been investigating a human trafficking ring that his father, the police chief, has been ignoring, too busy running down vigilantes to protect the city. He’s uncovered some leads, some through licit means, some…less so. But all he has so far is a few names, some circumstantial evidence, and bank statements.

But what Cowboy has sent him is _proof._ The shell corporations the bank accounts are linked to, incriminating photos, correspondence.

In short, everything a half-decent D.A. would need not just to arrest, but put away the perpetrators.

And, included is another small sheet of paper with a letter on it – H – as well as a note.

He runs down the leads, of course. He isn’t Arturo’s best-paid reporter for nothing. He sends the evidence to the D.A. first, so that by the time his article is out, he has a neat and satisfying conclusion:

_According to the D.A., a tip from a vigilante led to the arrest of the three alleged perpetrators. The police department has been pursuing this trafficking ring for more than a year, but there has never been enough evidence to make an arrest. It is unknown how this nameless vigilante acquired this evidence._

It’s subtle enough, but he knows he’ll be getting an angry phone call from his father tonight.

He doesn’t care, and he tells himself it’s because he helped bring bad people to justice, and not because Cowboy would be pleased.

Cowboy surprises him at his car that evening, leaning casually against it. His pose accentuates the long, lean lines of his body. Alex drags his eyes up to Cowboy’s face, the strong line of his jaw, the hint of stubble –

He ruthlessly quashes that line of thought. Instead, his eyes flick to the security camera.

“Don’t worry,” Cowboy drawls. “I took care of it. No one will see us. Nice article, by the way. I especially liked the ending.”

“What do you want?”

“Your help.”

Alex raises an eyebrow. “Why would I help you?”

“Besides the fact that I saved your life?” Cowboy challenges, and Alex glares at him.

“Didn’t know that came with a price,” he retorts.

“It doesn’t,” Cowboy reassures. “But we do share mutual interests. Like taking down your father a notch. He’s too busy chasing vigilantes to actually do his job, and I can help you expose him. Have him replaced by someone who’ll actually serve and protect.”

Alex raises an eyebrow. “And put you out of a job?”

“I only took this _job_ because no one else wanted to do it properly,” Cowboy replies.

Alex bites back several rejoinders that come to mind. Starting with _and you think doing it properly is with a mask on?_

“What exactly do you need?” he asks instead.

Cowboy starts talking.

Two weeks later, Alex waits for Cowboy on a deserted rooftop. Well, technically it’s the open-air top floor of a parking lot, which has conveniently been closed off for “repairs.”

Alex arrives first, though he doesn’t have to wait long before Cowboy is there, appearing from behind him with enough dramatic flair that Alex can’t stop himself from quipping “You really should get a cape.”

Cowboy chuckles as he strides forward.

“I’ll take it under advisement,” Cowboy says. He gives Alex a once-over that _should_ make him feel like he’s being X-rayed, but instead Alex just feels that little surge of contentment in his chest that comes with being admired.

He pulls the USB out of the inner pocket of his leather jacket and holds it out. “It’s everything I could find on Project Shepherd,” he says.

Cowboy reaches for it, but Alex pulls his hand back.

The implication is clear. They both know just how easily a man with Cowboy’s powers could simply take.

But Cowboy doesn’t make a move. “I wouldn’t use force against you, Alex,” he says softly. “I’d find another way to get what I need.”

Alex hates that softness, but it does help Cowboy make his point. Alex gives him the USB drive.

“Thank you,” Cowboy says.

“You’re welcome,” he finds himself saying.

Cowboy had stepped closer to take the drive from him, and they’re barely inches apart now. Cowboy’s eyes drop to his lips, and Alex inhales sharply. This close, he can almost smell him, feel the heat radiating off him. His gaze is magnetic, and Alex can’t seem to pull himself away.

Cowboy raises a hand slowly, telegraphing his movement. When Alex doesn’t move, he puts that hand on Alex’s cheek and pulls him in for a kiss.

Cowboy’s lips are chapped, but his kiss is warm and soft. He teases Alex’s lips open slowly with his tongue, and Alex happily allows him in. He wants to focus on just the feel of their lips and tongues, but he also can’t forget that he’s kissing a vigilante. That he’s kissing _Cowboy,_ his mask a reminder of the barrier between them. 

He loses himself in the kiss so much that at first he doesn’t hear the sirens, but Cowboy does. He pulls away, and Alex makes a pained sound.

“Sorry, Alex. Gotta go.”

Cowboy disappears in a swirl of shadow. Alex allows himself five seconds to close his eyes and commit the kiss to memory before he gets out of there. The last thing he or Cowboy need is for his father to find him up here.

Reaching into his pocket for his keys, he finds that Cowboy’s slipped him another piece of paper, a loopy _I_ scrawled on it.

By the time Alex gets back to his car, the memory of the kiss has faded enough for anger to start seeping into him.

Damn him, Alex thinks. Damn him, because he keeps watering that little seed of hope in Alex’s heart until it turns into a seedling, fragile but alive. But he knows how this’ll end: with it trampled underfoot. Cowboy will let Alex down eventually, and the very thought is terrifying, but what frightens him even more is the fact that when Cowboy is near him, it doesn’t seem to _matter_.

He’ll just have to take matters into his own hands, he realizes.

When he’s finished, he thinks it’s the best op-ed he’s ever written. Not that he’s in the habit of writing them – he’s an investigative reporter, after all – but when he tells Arturo that he has _opinions_ to express on the vigilantes he’s been writing about, his boss is more than happy to give him space on the front page.

He pours all his fear and fury into that op-ed, reliving every time the man who was supposed to protect him tried to beat him into being the son he wanted, every abuse of power he witnessed under the distant Iraqi sun as he watched men armed with guns and righteousness hurt those without just because they could. He writes with the passion of a true believer, except that his one belief is that men with power cannot be trusted.

 _We all live with an obvious fact that most of us ignore: vigilantes and police are alike,_ he writes. _Both have given themselves too much power, and both love that power too much. There will soon be casualties – there already are, when it comes to those in uniform. But no one has the right to play judge and jury, neither those who operate within the law nor those outside it._

He’s unreasonably proud of himself when he finishes, well past midnight, and sends the piece off to Arturo.

He’s woken by a pounding on his door at what feels like the crack of dawn. Once upon a time, he’d been an early bird, courtesy of his military training, but as an investigative reporter following tips and writing to deadlines, he’s turned nocturnal, and he cracks bleary eyes open. Checking his phone, he finds several missed calls from Kyle. Who appears to be trying to break down his door by the time Alex goes to open it. He must’ve seen the newspaper on his way home from a night shift and come straight here, if the dark circles under his eyes are anything to judge by.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Kyle says without preamble.

“Good morning to you too,” he says wryly as Kyle steps inside before Alex has a chance to protest.

“Alex, I’m serious.”

“Kyle – “ Alex makes a valiant attempt to interrupt the oncoming tirade.

“Don’t,” Kyle snaps.

Alex sighs and turns to the coffee-maker. He’s going to need coffee for this.

“You’ve pissed off the entire police force _and_ painted a target on your back for every vigilante,” Kyle continues. “You know what your dad’s capable of. I am not exaggerating when I say you are literally going to get yourself killed.”

Alex crosses his arms. “Your unwavering support is always appreciated, Kyle. Truly.”

Kyle’s anger seems to calm slightly at that. “I’m just trying to keep you safe, Alex.”

“Well, it’s already in print, so you’re a bit late on that score.”

“Print a retraction, then. Say you didn’t mean it.”

“I will do nothing of the sort, now get out of my house,” Alex snaps.

Kyle nods. “Just think about what I said,” he says as he leaves.

Alex sighs as he pours himself a cup of coffee. Perhaps he’d been too curt with Kyle; he knows his friend is just trying to look out for him and doesn’t want him to get hurt. But it still would be nice, he thinks, if someone, just _one_ person, took his side every once in a while.

Just _one._

That night, Cowboy shows up after a two-week silence. Alex is expecting him, but he still draws his gun when he hears a creak in his darkened house.

“Heya, Alex.”

Cowboy leans against a windowsill, half in shadow. He looks unperturbed by Alex’s gun.

Alex lowers his weapon. 

Cowboy strides toward him, and Alex tenses, though he doesn’t raise his gun again. He knows he has to let this play out.

“I read your op-ed today,” Cowboy says.

“And?” He refuses to back down as Cowboy approaches.

“Such _cruel_ words you wrote about me, Alex,” Cowboy murmurs, coming to stand right in front of Alex. He raises a hand and Alex steels himself for a blow.

This is it, he thinks. This is where Cowboy shows his true colors.

But instead, Cowboy only cradles his cheek in a calloused hand. Alex is so shocked that he doesn’t notice Cowboy move until his lips are on Alex’s. 

When Cowboy touches him, he’s physically incapable of resisting. He knows how this is going to end, but that thought simply doesn’t penetrate when those lips are kissing him. It’s like he has some preternatural power to make Alex forget reason, forget consequences. It’s unearthly, _inhuman._

“You’re not angry?” he asks, as Cowboy moves to kiss down his neck.

“Never,” he murmurs, as his mouth finds the hollow of Alex’s throat with his tongue. Alex gasps, melting like spring snow.

Cowboy’s arms snake around his waist and tilt him back, and Alex can’t help throwing his head back to give Cowboy access. It’s instinct, to bare his throat for a predator like that, and Alex wonders how Cowboy is capable of doing that to him.

“So _harsh,”_ Cowboy murmurs against his skin. “So opinionated. Unafraid to say what you think for all you hear.” Cowboy’s lips find his throat again. “I was so very impressed.”

One of the buttons of Alex’s shirt pops open of his own accord, and Cowboy slides the fabric off his shoulder and kisses the skin there, right above a shrapnel scar. “So fearless.”

Alex’s hands bury themselves in Cowboy’s curls. His hat falls to the ground, leaving only his mask, but Cowboy doesn’t seem to mind.

“I want to take you to bed, Alex,” Cowboy murmurs. “Let me take you to bed.”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t realize as he says it that when Cowboy says take him to bed, he means _take_ him to bed. As in, sweep him effortlessly off his feet and carry him, kissing him once again before depositing him on the bedspread, then parting his legs and crawling between them to steal another kiss.

“You get a choice,” Cowboy murmurs.

“Hmm?” Alex murmurs absently, too caught up in the kisses Cowboy is leaving on his neck.

“I can either keep my mask on, or blindfold you and take it off.”

“What, you don’t trust me?” Alex asks, half-mocking.

“Mmm, I do. And one day, I’ll show you my face. But not yet. So, what’ll it be?”

Alex thinks about it. He wants to dig his hands into his curls, wants to hold his face and trace over his cheekbones without the mask in the way. And the idea of being in Cowboy’s power so completely beckons too.

He really would let Cowboy have him like that, so utterly helpless, he realizes, and that makes the choice for him.

“Keep the mask,” he says.

“As you wish,” Cowboy murmurs.

Alex is undressed swiftly but gently, Cowboy’s powers popping open buttons and zippers, but it’s calloused fingers that part the folds of his clothing. Still, Alex freezes when Cowboy reveals his right leg, or what’s left of it. But Cowboy doesn’t remark upon it other than to ask, “On or off?”

Alex would be more comfortable with it off, but also completely helpless.

“On,” he says firmly, and again Cowboy nods.

With Alex undressed, Cowboy gets up off the bed, and Alex makes a plaintive sound at the sudden loss of heat and skin, but Cowboy swiftly makes up for it by starting on his own clothes. He does it slowly, a striptease, taking his sweet time with the buttons of his shirt and his belt. As he lets his jeans drop, Alex is struck with the hilarity of it all, as Cowboy stands naked before him except for a mask and cowboy boots.

Alex can’t tear his gaze away, and he see Cowboy basking in the attention, with the way he practically poses. Maybe he’s a model in his civilian life, Alex thinks, taking in his muscled chest, the broad shoulders and perfect hips. He aches to get his hands on that body.

“Like what you see?” Cowboy asks, putting a hand on his hip.

“What do you think?” Alex retorts. “Bathroom cabinet,” he instructs. It’s been a long time since he had the confidence to keep that sort of thing in his bedside drawer. “Now.”

Cowboy gives a mock-obedient tilt of the head and swiftly fetches the requisite supplies. Alex uses those few seconds to arrange himself on the bed. Tantalizingly, if Cowboy’s slightly widening eyes when he walks back into the bedroom are anything to go by.

“Like what you see?” he parrots.

“I am going to _ravish_ you, Alex Manes,” Cowboy says. In his mask, in the half-shadow of Alex’s bedroom, it’s not hard to believe that he plans to do just that.

Alex only spreads his legs wider in invitation.

If Alex had expected Cowboy to be gentle, he isn’t. Alex isn’t wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and softness, he’s fucked into the mattress, hard and fast and skilled, and it’s a relief. He doesn’t think he could accept slow lovemaking or tender touches right now, not without shattering, all the pieces on view for a man whose face he hasn’t even seen.

“Yes, yes, _yes,_ ” he gasps, his nails digging into Cowboy’s back, and Cowboy kisses him in return. Slow and sensuous at first, and as Alex starts to panic at the way it veers into intimacy, it turns biting, Cowboy taking his mouth as he’s taking his body. He has to bite back the string of profanities his mouth wants to spill, implorations for Cowboy to bite him and mark him and make Alex _his._

After, they lie side-by-side, catching their breath.

“No extra stamina to go with your superpowers, then?” Alex asks cheekily.

“Oh, I could go again,” Cowboy replies. Alex glances down to see that Cowboy is, in fact, hard, even though it’s been barely a minute. Cowboy rolls onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow and dragging his gaze slowly over Alex’s body. “In fact, I could ravish you all night long.”

He’s tempted to invite Cowboy to stay, perhaps for another few rounds. Perhaps Cowboy could even stay the night, and surprise Alex with slow morning sex, sleep-ruffled curls and sweet sleepy kisses.

The next moment is like a record scratch followed by a freeze frame, straight out of television, as he realizes what he’s considering.

“While that’s tempting,” he says in his particularly sarcastic tone, “some of us have to get up in the morning for work, and I stayed up rather late last night writing that piece about how terrible vigilantes are.”

Cowboy just grins and leans over to kiss him, slow and sweet. “Yeah, we’re pretty terrible,” he agrees.

He rolls easily out of Alex’s bed, picking up his clothes off the floor and offering Alex an unparalleled view of his ass. On purpose, probably, because Cowboy might leave when Alex tells him too, but he doesn’t seem to be the type who’s above reminding Alex of what he’ll be missing.

Alex just allows himself to admire the view. When you’re at the Grand Canyon, wouldn’t it be dumb not to look?

“Good night, Alex,” Cowboy says. “I’ll see you around.”

And then he’s gone. Alex gets ready for bed in a haze, feeling Cowboy’s phantom touches on his body as he pulls on pajamas and takes off his leg. The warmth of Cowboy’s body has faded from the sheets by the time he gets into bed, but Alex still sleeps on the side where he’d lain. He puts his head down on the pillow and discovers another slip of paper with another letter – a beautifully-rendered _L._

He doesn’t sleep for a long time.

He doesn’t see Cowboy for two more weeks, and his mind supplies all sorts of reasons why. Maybe Alex was nothing more than a conquest. A puzzle to solve, and now that Cowboy’s figured out how to get past his defenses and pass all his tests, he’s finished, no more challenge left.

Or maybe – maybe he’s _hurt._ There’d been nothing in the news, and if his father caught a vigilante, he’d let everyone know. Alex could reassure himself that Cowboy hadn’t been taken by the authorities, at least, but he could still be – captured by another vigilante. Imprisoned and being tortured. Dead at the bottom of a river somewhere.

Each of those options makes sheer, unadulterated panic rise in him if he considers it for more than a moment, and he realizes he cares. If anything happened to Cowboy, he’d be upset. He’d miss him, with his unannounced appearances and infuriatingly self-assured demeanor, his heated kisses and guileless eyes.

Hell, Alex would be _devastated._

He does a remarkable job of working himself into a panic over the next week, so that the time Friday rolls around, he nearly gives himself a heart attack every time he hears an unexpected sound.

 _Focus, Manes,_ he chides himself. He’s trained better than this.

And yet, for all his jumpiness, all the warning Alex gets as he walks back to his car is the prickling on the back of his neck. It lasts an instant, then Cowboy is pressed up behind him, his body preternaturally warm as always, while the only security camera on this level of the parking lot explodes in a shower of sparks.

“Hello, Alex.” His voice is so deep and rough it’s like he’s gargled gravel, his hot breath tickling the back of Alex’s neck, and immediately, instinctively, Alex’s body responds to him. He almost lets himself sink bonelessly into Cowboy, and only sheer willpower keeps him upright.

“Cowboy,” he says, evenly. As if he hadn’t spent the past week worrying. “I was starting to worry I’d never see you again.”

“Sorry. I had some business to take care of.”

Alex tries to turn his head and finds that he can’t, invisible hands holding him sill. He lets out a shaky breath.

“I won’t hurt you,” Cowboy reassures.

“I know.” Fear isn’t the reason his heart is beating like an insistent drum in his chest.

“Don’t turn your head,” Cowboy instructs, breath tickling Alex’s neck, followed by his curls as Cowboy presses kisses to his skin.

He’s not wearing his mask, Alex realizes. If only there were a reflective surface somewhere, a mirror or glass, even the car windows, but Cowboy’s put him exactly where he wants him, where Alex can’t see anything.

There’s no blindfold this time, and no mask, and Alex can see _nothing._ All he can do is feel as Cowboy’s hands find his belt and skim over the muscles of his belly.

“What if somebody _sees?_ ” Alex hisses, his good sense switching on for a brief moment.

“I took care of it,” Cowboy says laconically. “Trust me,” he adds, and Alex hates that he does.

Cowboy makes quick work of him, one arm around Alex’s chest, holding him close as his hand works him swiftly. When his legs start to feel like liquid, that arm holds him up, and Alex never wants to leave Cowboy’s arms where they’re holding him warm and safe.

Then, before Alex can return the favor, Cowboy leaves him with a bruising kiss on his neck and a slip of paper in his pocket.

The next day, he gets a call from a blocked number. It catches him just as he stands shirtless before a mirror, admiring the bruise that has blossomed where neck meets shoulder. A reminder, as if Alex needed one.

“Have you figured out what the letters mean yet?” a familiar voice drawls.

“No. Should I have?”

“I mean, you have everything you need by now,” Cowboy says. “Unless you think it’s too hard?”

Alex hangs up. He doesn’t like being taunted.

He pulls out his laptop, cracking his knuckles before launching a coding program. He doesn’t do much of it these days, only some minor hacking to help along investigation on his more difficult stories, but writing code that spits out all possible combinations of seven letters is child’s play. That still yields thousands of combinations, though, so he adds a few lines that will cross-check all results against a dictionary that includes proper names.

After doing some weeding of the results, he comes up with a name. _Michael._

Alex inhales sharply.

Cowboy – _Michael_ – gave him his name.

He trusts Alex with his _name_.

He holds that secret inside him, waiting for Cowboy to show up. Every evening as he walks to his car and each night as he comes home, he expects to see the telltale silhouette and hear the familiar drawl. He can’t wait until the moment he can say Michael’s name to his face and see the expression there, the moment they both know that Michael’s no longer the one with all the power.

But it’s not Michael who’s waiting for him when he walks into the Wild Pony that evening, it’s Influence. Except she’s not in costume, but he’s seen her perching on that same stool often enough, that same blond hair shining under the neon lights.

“So,” he says, taking the seat beside her. “Defense Attorney Isobel Evans is a Super. And not just a Super, but a vigilante that influences people into doing what she wants. Much like you do in everyday life during court.”

“Yes,” Influence agrees. “But I’m not here to talk about that. Cowboy is in trouble.” 

It’s like a bucket of ice-cold water’s been dumped over him.

“Michael’s in danger?”

“Michael?” Influence fixes him with an icy stare. “He told you his name?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

Influence – Isobel – considers him, and Alex wonders if she’s rooting around inside his brain. He wonders if he’d feel it, if she was. Whatever she finds in either his brain or his face, it appears to satisfy her.

“Your dad is involved,” Isobel says, looking him straight in the eye.

“Of course he is,” Alex sighs, because when has his life been easy?

Two hours later, they stumble into the back of the Wild Pony with a barely conscious Michael to find Kyle waiting for them.

“What the hell did that idiot do now?” Kyle demands, rushing over to help the second he catches sight of them.

“Kyle?” he says incredulously.

He may be just _slightly_ peeved that Kyle had the audacity to warn him about vigilantes when he’s apparently their personal doctor.

“Alex,” Kyle greets him absently, but the entirety of his attention is focused on Michael. The second they’re in the door, he helps Alex lay Cowboy down and begins to look him over.

Alex watches him, taking in how gentle he is with Cowboy, how he murmurs and explains as he moves along, and feels his anger at Kyle dissipate like fog in sunlight. Kyle may have lied to him, even if they were lies of omission. He may have told Alex off for endangering himself while that was exactly what he himself was doing. But Kyle has only ever wanted to help the people he cares about, and as he expertly patches Cowboy up, all Alex can feel is gratitude.

Especially with how helpless Michael looks, lying there. Bleeding and beautiful and oh-so-vulnerable. Alex aches to protect him, to hold him close and keep him safe, as Cowboy has always done for him. He wants to wipe away the blood on his forehead and kiss his brow.

In that moment, Alex realizes that he’s spent so much time worrying about how vulnerable Michael makes him that he hasn’t spared a thought for all the ways Michael made himself vulnerable to him.

If it hadn’t been for Alex, Michael might be dead now. Michael had trusted him with that, had told Isobel to come to Alex.

Something shatters inside him at that.

He’s so focused on his revelations that he doesn’t notice Writer enter, followed by Liz Ortecho.

“I’ve done what I can, but I need you to heal the rest,” Kyle explains the second he catches sight of him. Alex has never seen Writer in person, and so has never realized quite how _tall_ he is, more than six feet of him –

No, he realizes. He does know one person that tall, one person very publicly dating Liz Ortecho, one person who is Isobel Evans’ brother. Max Evans.

Writer approaches and bends over Michael. With his height, he towers over the other vigilante, but his expression is all concern. Alex watches curiously as Writer’s hand glows, and the next second, Michael’s flesh knits together as if it’d never been injured.

Writer doubles over, winded and clearly in pain, but Liz and Kyle are both there to catch him and help him over to a seat. Liz perches on one side of him, brushing the hair back from his sweaty forehead and squeezing his hand, while Kyle rubs his back and murmurs reassurances. “You’re all right,” he encourages. “And so is he, just breathe.”

“Thank you for taking care of him,” Writer says when he’s caught his breath.

Kyle and Writer’s eyes meet and something passes between them.

“You know I always will,” Kyle replies, and it sounds like more than the promise of a doctor.

 _Huh,_ Alex things as he takes in the triad before him. It’s not a relationship he expected – at least not in that particular configuration – but now that he sees it in front of him, it makes perfect sense.

A few minutes later, they all seem to realize that Alex is still here.

“We’ll be out in the bar,” Isobel says pointedly, shooting her brother a _look._

Max’s gaze flits between Alex and Michael, clearly concerned.

“Alex helped us save him,” Isobel says. She raises an eyebrow, as if daring her brother to contradict, and Alex sees exactly why she’s so effective in the courtroom.

Max nods and lets himself be helped out of the room by Liz and Kyle. Isobel follows them, unable to resist a final flare of her cape before they exit.

Leaving him alone with Michael, who is still unconscious. Alex settles beside him and leans over to kiss him on the forehead.

That’s the moment Cowboy chooses to blink his eyes open.

“Michael,” he murmurs, and Cowboy beams at him.

“You figured it out,” he says. “I knew you would.” Then - “You saved me,” he says, sounding just a little awed.

“Of course I did,” Alex says. “You knew I would.”

“I hoped,” Michael admits.

“I always will,” Alex promises. “But don’t ever pull a stunt that stupid again.”

Michael nods, looking gratifyingly contrite. “Never,” he agrees.

A moment passes as Alex gathers up his courage. Then - “Thank you,” he says. “For sticking around and not letting me push you away.”

Michael grins and brings one of Alex’s hands to his lips, like the goddamn chivalrous bastard he is. “I like a challenge,” he says, his eyes twinkling.

“Oh, is that what I was? A _challenge?_ ”

“The best kind,” Michael agrees.

Alex knows this is the moment. Here, now. They both know it.

He still telegraphs his movements as he reaches for Michael, but Michael stays perfectly still as Alex pulls off his mask - and gasps.

Alex had thought Cowboy was beautiful before, with those hazel eyes and sun-kissed curls, but now he’s – _breathtaking._ Alex stares, lost for words, lost for thoughts, taking in the sight before him ravenously.

“Alex? Earth to Alex?”

Alex blinks. “Sorry,” he says. “You’re just really – “

“Hot?” Michael supplies cheekily. His injury and convalescence seem to have done nothing to dent his infuriating self-assurance.

“And insufferable,” Alex adds, and kisses him.

This time, Michael has no letter to slip into Alex’s pocket, no hint to share. Alex knows his most dangerous secret, but he looks forward to learning the other ones – the ones who tell him who Michael _is._


End file.
